After the Battle
by gryffinclaw-witch
Summary: Immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron knows something is wrong. It could be that his brother is dead. It could be that he's scared for Harry. It could be completely unrelated to that. (One-shot. Rated T to be safe. First fanfiction!)


The Great Hall was full, but it felt empty. Perhaps it was only Ron who thought so, but with a glance around the room, all he could see were tears and hugs that were supposed to be comforting. People who had lived in blindness of what was going on had been suddenly forced into fighting. Some of those people were too young—some were Hogwarts students. It wasn't their fault.

Ron was with his family for over an hour as they all sat huddled near a corner. There had been crying and falsely nonchalant comments about "it just happens." There had been Charlie, patting Ron's shoulder without making eye contact; there had been Molly, rubbing slow circles on Ginny's arm and stroking her hair gently as they leaned against each other. About thirty minutes earlier, Ginny broke down into sobs, and even though she had since stopped, she couldn't mimic the sad smile her mother was wearing. Not long after Ginny calmed down, two Hogwarts students offered to carry away Fred's body; they were members of an impromptu group of staff and students who had already started to clean up after the battle. One of them was Seamus Finnigan, and the other was a Ravenclaw boy whom Ron had never met. They both walked off with Fred. Ron knew his family wouldn't get a chance to see him again until his funeral.

Harry and Hermione had been with the Weasleys soon after they followed Ron into the Great Hall almost immediately after the fighting ended. They spent ten minutes there until both of them left, despite Molly's insistence on them staying. Honestly, Ron hadn't wanted them to go, either, not after almost losing Harry. Even so, Harry was recruited by Professor McGonagall to have a brief discussion (of course, nearly eighty minutes later, he still hadn't returned), and Hermione left voluntarily, muttering something about Ron needing to be alone with his family for a while. He felt the tense sensations he'd had during the entire battle—shortened breath, quickening heartbeat—and he was ready to protest, but she was gone before he could.

The same clean-up committee first focused on organising the dormitories, because not everybody would be able to travel to their own homes and spend the night there. Ron had no word on whether his family would stay or go later that evening, but regardless, he knew he was going to stay. The following morning, he would be expected to help rearrange the school, because Harry played a major role in the battle, and he was Harry's friend. Tomorrow would be long and hard and unrelenting, and for now, Ron only wanted some sleep.

He originally decided to go to the Gryffindor common room, but then the thought of his destination slipped his mind, and his body simply went through the routine movements that would bring him there. He found himself standing at the entrance not long after, not having realised how exactly he had gotten there. The portrait before him was tattered, the frame was lopsided, and the Fat Lady was gone. Ron tugged the frame himself until it swung open, and then he stepped through.

The common room was the opposite of the Great Hall in that it was empty, but felt so full and heavy, mostly with the weight of emotion. The room was too still—not even a fire was moving within the hearth—and Ron made his way through it and to the staircases at once. He wanted to collapse in his bed, and he was going to before any more dreadful thoughts crossed through his head: ones about Horcruxes, or making mistakes, or Fred . . . not even thoughts about George, because somehow it hurt Ron more to think about how his brother could possibly remain whole on the outside than to think about the reason he shouldn't.

He was headed for the staircases, yes, making his way to his old dormitory, ultimately, but halted as he passed behind the couch positioned across from the fireplace. There was somebody there, and silent.

He had to admit, he liked Hermione more when she was asleep. She was quieter then, never getting in the way with her arrogance (although, in all fairness, she was much better at controlling it than she was in their younger years). Despite the black circles beneath her eyes, and despite her cheekbones, sunken and coated with a layer of dirt, she was still beautiful. Her bushy hair might have been even thicker sprawled out behind her. Ron could picture the exact way the light would reflect in her eyes, if only they were open. She supported her head with one fist, but uselessly, so her neck was craned up against the arm of the couch instead.

Ron crouched in front of her.

"Hermione," he whispered. "Hermione."

She didn't wake then, but she did when Ron gently laid his palm on her arm. She made no noise—her breathing was quieter, if anything—as she snapped awake. For a span of time, all they did was look at each other, taking a moment to recognise one another, and also acquaint themselves with the new versions of themselves, because they had both changed so much throughout the war, and knew it.

"Morning," mumbled Hermione, and managed a smile.

Ron licked his lips and raised his eyebrows. "Five in the afternoon, actually," he said in a husky voice. He risked a halfhearted chuckle, but it didn't come out right. He hoped Hermione didn't notice.

If she did, she made no indication of it. "Is dinner almost ready?" she said, and by a sudden cringe, Ron knew she was correcting herself. _If dinner is going to be served here at all. If the house-elves weren't all killed._

"I'm not sure," said Ron carefully. "They will try to fix something together, I'll bet, but I think Mum and the others were planning on going home for the night. They'd be having a meal there."

"Oh." Hermione sighed, and shifted so that her chin was propped on her hand instead of uncomfortably held up by the couch. Gently, she asked, "Are you?"

Ron paused. He had been so certain in his decision before, but it was always obvious that his family would need him. Maybe his mother wouldn't be able to deal with losing two children in one day—or three, because he had an inclination that if he stayed, Ginny would want to as well, if only to be with Harry tomorrow.

Ron shook his head.

"Oh," said Hermione again, and she sat up. "Were you hungry, anyway?"

He took a seat on the cushion next to hers. "No. I was planning on going to bed. I know it's early, but . . ."

He didn't complete the thought. He knew he didn't have to, because Hermione understood. She was as exhausted as he was. She was as worn as he was.

"Don't let me keep you," she told him. "If you need sleep, you should get some."

"No—no, I . . ." Ron cleared his throat. "I'm okay. I'll be okay, I think."

A tiny smile passed over Hermione. "Okay," she said, and then it vanished. "Well, could—could we go upstairs anyway? Do you mind? I just want to talk about something."

Ron agreed with more reluctance than he let show. They lifted themselves off of the couch, and he led the way to his old dormitory. It was mostly intact, if only somewhat disheveled, with a torn curtain and two broken bedposts. Some of the fighting must have carried into the room. Ron had to have expected it, but something about seeing such a safe, hidden place—accessible only by password—destroyed only slightly was still heartbreaking.

Ron and Hermione stepped into the room. Hermione took a quick glance around from where she stood, and he remembered that she had probably never seen it. It was sad that she had to see it like this.

"Which one's yours?"

"That one."

Hermione walked further inside and sat lightly on the bed Ron had pointed her to. He followed her but didn't sit down, noting the scratches in the wood of the headboard, but had to be thankful that it hadn't been damaged any more than that.

She was turning her gaze away from the window and forcing herself to look at Ron instead. He did the same, knowing that he owed her the same respect to give her at least that. Hermione got to her feet once more and crossed her arms, and came to stand in front of him.

"I'm so sorry," she tried to say, but it was almost inaudible. He knew what she wanted him to hear, and he listened. "I'm sorry, okay? About all those stupid arguments we had when we were—what, thirteen years old? I'm sorry you hated Crookshanks and I'm sorry I made you hate me, in the beginning. I'm sorry about Fred, I'm sorry about kissing you in the Chamber of Secrets—"

Ron's chest suddenly hurt. "You're sorry about that?"

Hermione grinned, but it looked like it was a hard thing to do. "Not exactly," she said. "I'm sorry I waited so long for it to happen."

He wanted to say something, respond somehow, but didn't have any idea what to tell her. He settled on nothing.

"I—" Hermione cut her words off as soon as she heard tears in her voice. Ron heard them, too, but knew from experience that his interferences didn't always make things better, so he waited to act. When Hermione regained composure, or as much as she could, she swallowed and hid her mouth behind her hand. "I could have lost you," she said painfully, shaking her head. "Gosh, Ronald, I could've—I mean, if it happened . . ."

Without thinking, Hermione approached Ron and wrapped her arms around him. He returned the favour, because he could and he wanted to. It sort of let everything fall to pieces around them, until he wasn't sure that they were in a building anymore. It felt mostly like him, and her, standing alone, without surroundings and burden—and not standing in a tower of a castle. He supposed the tower was like most people he knew: broken and hurt on the inside, but still strong and calm on the outside.

Ron wasn't aware that she was crying until they broke apart, and she rushed to wipe the wet tracks off of her skin. Then she averted her eyes, gave a sniff, and apologised numbly while shaking her head again.

"I don't blame you," he insisted. "You have every right to be upset."

"No, I don't," Hermione said, "not when so many others have more right. I didn't lose anyone. I didn't get badly hurt. Some people did, and they haven't complained. Then here I am, sobbing like I never expected it all to happen."

"Neither did I, really." Ron gave a shaky laugh.

Hermione knew he was hinting at Fred. That made her more distraught.

"Do you want to sleep for a while?" Ron asked, and she nodded. She was beginning to bring herself together again. "Do you want to sleep in here tonight?"

Hermione sniffed again and wiped her eyes one last time. "Yeah," she murmured.

Ron half-expected her to go to her own dormitory, and half-expected her to stay in here tonight. Thus, when she didn't leave the room, he wasn't surprised. He would have accepted it if she chose another bed, but kind of hoped that she wouldn't, because then he would be certain that she was there. He would be able to feel her presence, feel her next to him, comfort her if she broke out crying again, or if he did.

They lay down on top of the bedding in their clothes, not having the energy to waste on much of anything. They were facing each other.

"I'm sorry," said Hermione honestly, after spending minutes watching each other.

"So am I, actually," Ron said, aware that he had apologised for this before, but he decided to do it again, because now was a good time to, with her feeling just as regretful. "I—Hermione, I completely abandoned you and Harry, and—you needed my help. I didn't give it to you, I was selfish, it was completely out of line . . ."

Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was steady.

Ron debated something, and ended up doing it. She had fallen asleep in close proximity to him, by rights, as if she meant to suggest it, because she didn't want to ask. So he took her up on the offer, and slid an arm around her waist.

Hermione didn't do anything. She was definitely asleep.

The thoughts washed over Ron, and he could feel his face get hot, because he couldn't help seeing Fred and George and the guilt of putting Hermione through pain. Ron held her tighter and soundlessly allowed himself to cry, with the full knowledge that she would let it happen as well.


End file.
